


Jeeves And The Shared Inclinations

by Not_You



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: BDSM, Impact Play, Kink Shame, M/M, Mild Blood, Sadism, Sex Club, Vacation, lovers in a dangerous time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: Another work for the meme, where the prompt was for Bertie to discover that he's a sexual sadist and get very worried about what this means for him as a moral person.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was thrown up in the most slapdash way ever, so I couldn't get even chapter lengths and that bothers me. All the Jeeves POV is in italics, hopefully it's clear.

"I can't possibly strike a lady," I yelped, "I don't care _what_ the done thing is here!" 

Claude and Eustace had dragged me to one of their least reputable haunts (which is to say, it had no reputation, being secret) and I was in discourse with what I had to think of as the madame of the place, who was trying to get me to beat a rather charming girl with a riding crop. The girl being completely naked and kneeling at our feet had, by that point, merely become part of the scenery.

"I would not offer if you didn't seem so genuinely interested, sir." She said with a smile, and the Wooster visage went scarlet. The girl nuzzled my leg like a cat, and I did my best not to jump.

"I say!" I didn't step back, because that wouldn't be very _preux_. Then again, being here at all was a catastrophic failure in the _chevalier_ department. She looked up at me and smiled. I hadn't really noticed before, but she had the kind of big green eyes a chap could drown in. I shook my head again, looking at what seemed like acres of soft white skin. All other personal failures aside, there's a bar I cannot drop below. Really, the thought of hurting her was doing a great deal to make my 'interest' wane, and I welcomed it. "My dear," I said to the girl, "I couldn't possibly. You're entirely too lovely."

The 'slaves' weren't supposed to speak, but managed to be very expressive none the less. She pouted, then lowered her head and kissed the toe of my shoe in a fond sort of way that made my heart speed up, and crawled away. 

"Perhaps," the madame said, idly watching Claude and Eustace yelp like puppies as a beazel in extraordinarily tall and polished boots kicked them, "we have something else that might interest you." 

That was really just her way of talking, so I wasn't all that surprised when the something was most definitely someone. The whole place was done in rich, dark green, and he was ginger, so he stood out. Really, with his hair and skin he made quite the centerpiece in that dark room, already strapped to a rack. That should have disturbed me more, but I was already getting used to the place, and I could see that it was padded with leather and actually probably about as comfortable as it could be.

"Perhaps this is more to your taste," she said, trailing her fingertips down his freckled back and making him shudder. 

There were some faint scars on his back, and as I came closer there was something reassuringly durable about him. There was also that little lurch below the belt that even the partial invert works hard to ignore, and my hand was beside hers almost before I knew it. His skin was warm, and he moaned softly. The madame smiled. "Yes, I think this will do nicely." With a gesture she directed my attention to a whole collection of dastardly implements on the wall. "The flogger at the top is his favorite, he hates the cane." My throat was too dry to really give her an answer and she didn't seem to expect one, vanishing the way we had come.

"Well." I swallowed, absently stroking his fiery hair. "Was she telling the truth?" He nodded, so I went and fetched the tool in question. It was sort of like a cat o' ninetails, but it had more than nine tails and no nasty hooky bits. The handle fit nicely into the Wooster grasp, and the tails were kidskin or something like. Very soft, and I stroked them over my other palm for a long moment, considering. "Whatever the house rules are, speak up if I really hurt you. I'll feel a dreadful cad if you don't."

"Yes, master." His voice was soft, husky, and a relief.

I smiled. "Jolly good, then." 

The sound of the first strike was quiet, but it seemed loud in the general thingness of it. Which is to say that it was somehow like the first time anyone had ever hit anyone in the whole world, or something. All I know is that the motion came easily to me, and that pretty soon I was in shirtsleeves to give better range to my swing. Ginger (for so I had to think of him, and at least he looked nothing like the Winship of similar sobriquet) was soon panting softly and squirming in his rack, whimpering when I stopped to catch my breath, trailing the tips of the tails over his back, which had gone from nearly white to a deep pink. 

I ran my hand over it, feeling the heat radiating off like a rock in the sun, and Ginger whined, squirming in his restraints. "Too much, old thing?" I asked him, dubious. 

He shook his head almost violently, and I realized with what felt like a bally whole body blush that he wanted more. I was a little appalled to find myself so willing to give it, but there we were. The room seemed to have gotten rather hotter, so I set the waistcoat with the jacket, and after a moment tossed my tie to join them. There was something with harder leather and fewer tails, and I picked it up with some reservations. 

Trailing it down Ginger's back made him whimper, though, so I gave him a cautious lick with it. He wriggled and made a little mewling noise, so I hit him again. I was leaving red welts that were the shape of a mostly closed fan, and he was letting out these simply corking little cries, all soft and warm and almost but not quite girlish. He jerked against the restraints a little, but I could see that he was only trying to get closer, to stretch himself out more wantonly for each blow. 

I'm not entirely certain when I lost my shirt, but by the time we were finished I had run through just about every tool I could lay hands on, and we were both covered in sweat. Ginger had spent on the floor without either of us touching his prick, and it was only afterward that I saw the little beads of blood oozing up. It wasn't so very much blood. I've lost more falling off a bicycle, but knowing that I had drawn it and enjoyed myself immensely in the drawing was a bit much for this Wooster to take. I reeled back a few steps and started to get back into my togs as fast as humanly possible. Ginger made happy, formless noises, and through my own horror I was glad he had enjoyed himself.

So began a strange, twilight period of my life. I have never been one for unsavory secrets and creeping around (despite what various Friends and Relations will put me through) but I found myself trapped in a vicious circle. I'd vow never to return, recover my normal sunny disposish, and then lose said s. d. gradually, like air leaking out of a balloon. My skin felt about two sizes too small, and I would itch and swelter no matter how comfortable my clothes or how cool the weather, tending more and more to fits of un-Bertram-like snappishness, and then it would be off to the dungeon again.

I simply couldn't seem to stop myself. The place was damnably easy to get to once one knew how, and every time I would horrify myself, gleefully dishing out frightful thrashings to anyone who would sit still for them. It wasn't that the 'slaves' didn't enjoy it, mind. I couldn't have stood that for a moment, but their rule of silence and their single-mindedness was wearing. They were ephemeral creatures, consumed in a moment like a matchstick, and there would be times when I'd want to talk and there would be nothing there, only need. So I brought my own need to bear, and would lurch away from each encounter dazed and sick.

I've always been a bit on the soft-hearted side. Show Bertram a friend in need or a homeless kitten, and he is instantly committed. (Unless the friend has already asked an escalating set of favors, each more dubious than the last, of course.) No matter what, I try to be a caring sort of bird. Do Unto Others and all that. But hidden away from the world with a whip in my hand, I was someone else altogether, and it frightened me. There were times I seemed to float above myself, unable to believe my own actions. Was it really Bertie Wooster sending out a lash to cut cringing flesh as surely as a knife? Was I honestly caning someone until he wept? And the answer was always yes, and the feeling was giddy and terrifying. 

I don't know what I would have done if Jeeves hadn't stumbled upon me in the aftermath of one of these binges. I of course told him not to wait up for me when I went out anything like so late, but everyone has those nights where they wake up at four in the ack-emma and stagger about looking for a glass of water. So it was with Jeeves on this particular night. All unaware, I was tucked up on the lounge having a very late b. and s. and a bit of a cry. Not a real Niagra Falls job, just a bit of quiet sniveling in comfort. Of course, if the sniveling was quiet, the valet was quieter, and the first I knew of him was a looming presence asking me very softly what had happened.

After I nearly jumped out of my skin, I sniffed manfully and did my utmost to stop blubbing. "Oh, nothing has happened, Jeeves. Sorry to worry you, I've just--" I was going to say something utterly untrue about having had too much to drink, but at that point the sniveling returned, and this time it was like Niagra. I must have been in quite a state, because Jeeves sat beside me without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Sir.. Please, if I can help you in any way..." 

He sounded a bit helpless, and that was so strange I stopped crying and looked over at him. He looked less like a stuffed frog than I had ever seen him, and something twisted uncomfortably in my chest. It was a very familiar something that I had been desperately trying to ignore for about three years at that point. It probably had something to do with his hair being all rumpled about as even a paragon's gets at night, but whatever prompted it, I did my usual trick of swallowing it and reminding myself where propositioning Jeeves would almost surely lead. Alas, that just set me off again, and at last Jeeves sighed and took my glass, standing and making me a stiffer drink than I had made myself, handing it to me.

"Sip it slowly, sir, and try to collect yourself. I can only think of two hypothetical situations in which I would not assist you if you had need, sir. Please tell me what is the matter."

I followed directions, gradually getting hold of myself. "I say, Jeeves. Terribly sorry about all this." I made a vague gesture that encompassed this Wooster and his sorry state, and then took a deep breath. "So what are these two whatsits, Jeeves? What would cause you to flee the Wooster abode in horror?"

"They are very unlikely, sir. Murder without cause, or rape. I trust you have done neither this evening, sir."

"Good god, no!" I paused. "You really mean that, Jeeves?"

"Indeed, sir."

"You'd really like to be taken into the Wooster confidence?"

"I prefer to feel myself already there, sir."

I patted the lounge beside me and he sat down. "It's all very sordid, Jeeves."

"I am prepared for sordid, sir." He seemed almost amused, as if imagining my brand of sordid to be nothing like other people's.

"Oh," I sighed, on the verge of tears again, "you had better be." 

He reassured me (again) and I told him all about it. It cost me a lot to put the whole mess into words, and there was a great deal of stammering and babbling. I was frequently reduced to gestures and feeble comments about the general thingness of things, but I managed to give Jeeves the gist of the problem. He listened in understanding silence, asking a few well-chosen questions to clarify things for himself, and then asked if I minded if he made himself a drink. Naturally, I minded not a bit, and told him so. I felt altogether wrung out, and just watched Jeeves fix himself a stiffener.

"You're... you're not totally disgusted are you, Jeeves?" It came out more plaintive than I wanted it to, of course, and he turned back to me, seeming to know I'd need to actually see his answer in his eyes.

"Not in the least, sir." 

_I was not at all disgusted, but slightly dizzy. I had been longing for my employer for some time, and had even seen a few positive signs that at least inversion would not be cause for immediate dismissal, and that he might even in some form return my regard. I had said nothing, not only out of a cowardice, but from a wish to not inflict my perversions upon him. Finding out that his were the perfect compliment to mine left my mind reeling._

_"Y-you're sure, then? Not handing the young master the mitten for thrashing other chaps?" He looked heart-breakingly like a child afraid of punishment, blue eyes wide and limpid._

_I fought back the impulse to gather him into my arms and soothe him, a compulsion I was very used to resisting. "While it does indicate at least partial inversion sir, I find myself in a similar condition and have yet to molest a child, go mad, rape another man, or perform any of the other depravities considered due to men of my ilk."_

_"By Jove, you too? Good Lord, Jeeves." I lit a gasper, finally starting to calm. "We bally well out to exhibit you to all those distinguished medical gentleman. If a paragon like you can be an invert, I don't suppose the whole wheeze is so bad."_

_"Thank you, sir." I meant it from the bottom of my heart._

_"But what about the thrashing, old thing? I haven't molested anyone or gone mad, either, but this is rather distressing."_

_"Sir, such desires are not incompatible with a kind heart such as you yourself possess."_

_"Doesn't seem to be much kind about whipping a bloke til the blood comes, Jeeves." He looked almost as though he would cry again, and I sat down beside him._

_"Mr. Wooster, you have already stated that it was your partners' enjoyment that created your own. You are a true gentleman, sir, and I find myself unable even to imagine you forcing your attentions on anyone."_

_"You really mean that, don't you?"_

_"Indeed, sir."_

_He shivered, and finished his cigarette in silence. "Well." He finally said. "Guess we should both get some sleep, what?"_

_"Undoubtedly, sir."_

_I helped him to his feet and then let him alone, washing the glasses and listening to the water run as he brushed his teeth. I wished for an entire sinkful of dishes, for mindless labor that would let me think. Two glasses that had held nothing more cloying than spirits was far from enough, and I found myself lying awake and trembling to think of those beautiful hands dispensing pain. I had had a few fevered dreams about that very image, but to know that it was actually possible, that my sweet-tempered master truly harbored those dark urges so like my own made me whimper quietly into my pillow and pray for dawn._


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up the next day wondering if the whole night before had been a dream. The feeling only got stronger when Jeeves came in with the morning tray like always, just as if we hadn't confided in each other about illegal perversions. It was only after he had shimmered away and I had finished breakfast that I saw the small white card tucked under the rim of my plate. It hardly looked like anything at all, but I picked it up and opened it with shaking fingers. It was a brief message in Jeeves's handwriting:

_I share your inclinations in more ways than one and offer myself to you if going to strangers distresses you. Leave the card on the tray and we need never speak of this again. --J_

I was stunned. Nay, gobsmacked. Even that hardly seems strong enough. For one terrible moment I really thought I would faint, but I had another cup of tea and calmed down, reading it twice more before wrapping my hand around it. When Jeeves returned to take the tray, he only said, "Very good, sir", but I stared in amazement as my man actually _blushed_. I was so enchanted by this heretofore unknown wonder that I didn't say anything in reply, letting him escape. He was completely composed by the time I had bathed and dressed, of course, carefully burning the card so that no convenient little end bit was left to tell Sherlock Holmes or anyone else what it had said. He stood when I came in, and told me that we were going to Spain, if I had no objection. Apparently there was some remote little cottage where we could get up to whatever depravity we liked. 

I had no objection whatsoever to going to Spain. I had so very little objection (even over my yammering nerves) that the trip was torture. The only comfort was that it seemed to be bally killing Jeeves as well. There we were, arm's length apart and miles from actually seeing how this change in our relationship was going to turn out. It kept me awake nights, and gave me some of the most interesting dreams I've ever had, including a couple of nasty nightmares. In one of them I actually gobbled Jeeves up as if he was a plate of bacon and eggs, and it was so horribly real I had to creep off and check on him.

Still, we survived and after forty-seven blasted geologic ages we reached our destination. It really was lovely, with our own little stretch of beach and no neighbors for miles. I didn't speak the lingo, but Jeeves did and soon we were alone with the place. There was no sound but the waves on the rocks, and nothing to look at but miles of sea, sky and sand. More than anything, those first few moments were dashed awkward. And then Jeeves started unpacking the way he always did, and I poked about the environs and walked along the shore to calm my nerves and let my man order his universe in peace.

Several poet chappies and other contemplative types have said that man is naturally drawn to and soothed by the sea, and there might be something to it. I was in too much of a state to really find myself calm, but I was certainly closer to it when I at last went back to the cottage, the sky staining pink with sunset. More than anything else, Jeeves and self were Jeeves and self, respectively. Nothing would change that no matter what we did, and there was something reassuring in that. I hung up my hat and followed the scent of unidentified deliciousness to the kitchen, finding Jeeves in shirt-sleeves and up to his elbows in dinner. I have no idea to this day what it was, though. Jeeves doesn't know either, which is far more telling. 

_Seldom in the entirety of my adult life have I been so nervous. I could tell Mr. Wooster would have preferred us to dine together, but I felt that I had to stay on my feet and serve or else burst into flame. Feeling his eyes on me while I was thus removed was unbearable enough. He chattered pleasantly and inanely and I replied stoically, both of us using our preferred coping mechanisms. It seemed an age before I had the dishes done and everything straightened out, Mr. Wooster fluttering about with what he would call a stiffener in one hand, clearly regretting the lack of a piano. I shuddered to hope that after tonight, he wouldn't mind this deficiency._

_I had taken the liberty of preparing the bedroom for our proposed activities while he took his walk, and apprised him of the fact as calmly as I could after my work was done. He swallowed the rest of his drink a moment, setting the glass aside. "Oh." He said, sounding slightly faint. "Jolly good, then."_

_"Sir, participation in this experiment is not compulsory. Only say the word."_

_He shook his head violently. "No, no, nothing like that! I do want to. Dreadfully, old thing. I'm just..." His blue eyes were troubled as he searched for a way to express himself. "There are names for the sort of man who beats his servants, and even though you've said you'd like it and are far more to me than a servant, it's a bit thick." He looked up at me again, a touchingly deferential expression on his face. "I don't suppose you could refrain from sirring me, could you? Just for the duration, I know it would be dashed shocking of me to make you give it up altogether."_

_"I believe I can manage that, Betram." It came out easily, as if I addressed him thus every day, and he shivered slightly._

_"Very well then, Jeeves. Or should it be Reginald?"_

_"I find my customary appellation sufficient, but should the spirit move you, feel free."_

_He smiled at that, and took my hand. "Right, then." His palm was damp with nerves, and I grasped it reassuringly as we went upstairs. The bedroom was small and secluded, much of the space taken up by the massive bed. When I had first come here on holiday it had made me feel as safe and snug as some cave-dwelling creature, and I could see it having a similar effect upon Mr. Wooster. "I say, this is cosy, what?"_

_"I endeavor to give satisfaction." I told him softly, and moved to light the candles I had placed around, the cottage not being electrified. As the room filled with golden light, I heard Mr. Wooster gasp softly, and surmised that he must have seen the equipment neatly laid out for his use. I must admit to being rather proud of my collection, particularly since every article can be hidden in plain sight in some innocuous guise._

_"You mean to tell me this walking stick is a bally flogger?" His voice squeaked slightly, and he wavered a little on his feet. "And I've seen you use it as if it were normal! Good God!"_

_"It is a very good walking stick, Bertram." I have no wish ever to be caught with a bag of flagellator's tricks, and had taken steps to ensure that very early on. He laughed, and I turned to him, the last candle lit._

_"Very well, then." He stood and came to me. "Might as well address the inevitable first." He stood on tiptoe to kiss me, and I gasped at that single, soft touch. "This can't just be convenient, Jeeves. If you won't want it the way I do, I can't..." I cut him off with another kiss, for once at a loss for words._

There was something about the way Jeeves whimpered into my mouth that sort of vaulted me through my nerves and out the other side. I didn't even ask before starting to strip him off, but he just trembled all over and helped me, mewling my name and kissing me whenever he could. It seemed like the mad wonder of the thing had struck him too, and he couldn't seem to get enough. I bit his lip and he quivered, crying out softly when I bit the crook of his neck. "I don't suppose you'd care to even up the general state of undress, old thing?"

"I-I find I prefer you as you are for the moment," he breathed, dark eyes wide and lost and beautiful.

"Very well, then." I guided him over to the bed and stretched him out on his front, pressing a line of kisses to his spine that made him gasp and whimper. "I never would have thought you'd sound like this, Jeeves," I told him, letting my hands go wherever they would. His skin was smooth, but there were faint stripes here and there that spoke of previous adventures. I kissed them and he groaned into the pillow, rutting against the sheet a little the way one will in extremity.

"Please..." he groaned, and I gave him a slap on the billowy portions for not being specific which seemed to do the trick nicely. His hips rose a little of their own accord, and before long I was swatting him with all the strength in the Wooster arm as he moaned and clutched at the headboard. Before long he was a nice warm red and I stopped, gently stroking the blazing skin as he whined into the pillow.

"Now, then," I said softly. I didn't quite recognize my own voice, which sounded almost predatory, but I didn't mind. "Which of these is your favorite?"

"The light leather to start, the scourge later," he muttered, flushing all over.

"Is that so?" I picked up the former implement and gave it an experimental swish. It swirled and fell like silk, and I ran the smooth tails over my palm. "Lovely," I murmured to no one in particular, and lazily trailed the tails down Jeeves's back, occasionally tickling lower and making him squirm. The first strike made him gasp, and that same thingness that had been there with Ginger was back a thousandfold. He was beautiful, glowing in the candle light and whimpering every time I struck him, one hand clutching at the headboard, the other knotted into his own dark hair, as if he felt like he would fall off the edge of the world.

For some reason I had thought it would more difficult, that the Wooster corpus wouldn't just remember what to do, wouldn't use those hours of swinging on my beloved target as naturally as breathing. I shed all my garments above the waist pretty quickly, those remaining below becoming more constrictive bt the moment as Jeeves writhed, crying out as I hit harder, leaving red marks. He moaned plaintively when I stopped, shivering and whining as I licked the marks. I picked up another instrument with longer, rougher tails and less give.

"Ready, Jeeves?"

"Please." He shivered, and wailed when I brought the lash down. I never would have believed he could make that sound, and had to hit him again to duplicate it. He looked over his shoulder at me, tears running down his face. "Please, master," he breathed, "more."

And really, there's nothing a chap can do in response to that but give in. I lashed Jeeves furiously as he sobbed and crawled at the sheet, still rocking against it. "Don't spend yet, Jeeves." I growled, the cutting tips of the tails just barely wrapping around onto his flank and making him yelp.

"Y-yes, master," he choked, sounding nothing at all like his usual assured self. 

_It had been a long time since I had experienced anything so vivid and profound. A merely professional or chance encounter has only a shadow of that deep, bloody meaning of truly giving one's self into another's power. There is a reason I do my best to be so controlled in ordinary life: it frightens me to be otherwise. But stretched out and undone for my master's pleasure, I seemed to float. I would say in a blissful haze, but there was nothing hazy about it. My lack of clarity came precisely from how bright and clear everything was. I could only endure by closing my eyes into red darkness and howling into the pillow as he painted fire across my back._

_I groaned when he stopped again, unable to bear the quiet. My skin tingled, and I jumped when he rubbed a gentle hand along my back. "You're dreadfully marked up, Jeeves." He said softly._

_I moaned. "Please, Bertram..."_

_"This is a nasty little device, Jeeves. I can hardly believe you actually want me to use it."_

_I glanced over my shoulder, vision still a little blurry with ecstatic tears. He was holding the scourge, investigating the cruel, delicate little points of silver affixed to each tail. "I trust you, master." I whispered, and buried my face in the pillow again._

_"...Oh." He pressed a kiss to the back of my neck, and more to the stinging marks on my back. "It's such a cruel thing." He murmured. "But you should bleed for me, shouldn't you?" My only answer was a completely inarticulate noise, but it seemed to get my agreement across. He sat up, and a moment later I could feel cold metal tickling me. He was cautious, the first slow, swinging strokes almost lulling, metal slowly warming. I whimpered into the pillow, and cried out at the first real strike, like being clawed. Mr. Wooster seemed to take courage from it, and gave me another, slowly becoming accustomed to what I had to assume was a completely unknown piece of equipment and cutting me in several places as I took advantage of our isolation to loose a cacophony of anguished howls._

_I have no idea how long it lasted, my sense of time completely distorted, but it seemed like forever before I drifted slowly back to myself. His kisses fell like warm rain, soothing my myriad hurts as one slick finger pressed into me. I groaned and raised myself up to give him better access, feeling utterly defenceless and unmoored. I dimly realised that I must be bleeding, and whimpered to feel my master's tongue slowly lapping it from the cuts as he stretched me open. I had so far forgotten myself as to cry out an obscene entreaty, but I could not regret it, since it had the desired effect._

_He plunged into me with a sound like the agony of angels, and I could feel his tears on the nape of my neck as he moved helplessly, too driven to allow me to adjust. Not that I needed to, open and hungry as I was. I found my own crisis moments later, unable to last any longer. The rocking as he searched for his own was soothing, and I moaned when I felt him spend. We rested together in the quiet after the storm, and I dozed off, comforted by his body spread over mine like a blanket._

_"A-all right, Jeeves?" The tremor in his voice worried me, and I turned over, hissing as my back made contact with the sheet. I looked up into a pair of remorseful blue eyes and sighed._

_"Come here, sir." I pulled him down to rest his head on my chest and stroked his hair. "I am much better than all right."_

I couldn't help but feel a bit rum after it was all over. Jeeves was bleeding, and in some profusion. It was all that harmless sort of blood you get from little cuts, like when you pick up broken glass with almost but not quite enough caution, but still. I had licked the bally things, like some sort of big cat or creature of the night, and it didn't quite sit well with the rest of the Wooster self-image. Still, as he held me close and stroked me like a cat and told me all about how wonderful he felt, I had no choice but to calm down.

I also felt a bit rum cuddling up to the chap I'd just been thrashing, but it was bally amazing to just rest there on him, feeling the strength of his arms around me and listening to his heartbeat. "When did you realize you liked this sort of thing?" I mumbled against his skin.

He shivered. "Very early on, sir."

"Oh? Well, you do always figure things out before this Wooster."

"I simply had the the good fortune to know an older boy with complimentary inclinations, sir."

"Is that what it's called, then." I chuckled, feeling a little more like myself and melting when he started stroking my hair again.

"It is more correctly called sadism, sir, but I find the Marquis de Sade's works almost perfectly anti-erotic."

I yawned, and reluctantly extracted myself from the Jeevesian embrace. "I've never read the chappie, myself." I sat up and stretched, feeling his eyes on me.

"You would not find him at all agreeable, sir."

"I'll take your word for it. Roll over and let me see about those cuts." 

He obliged, and I snuffed most of the candles, leaving enough to see my work by as I cleaned his cuts and painted them with Mercurochrome. His legs were like jelly when I helped him out of bed, but he recovered himself enough to fetch a clean sheet as I took the other off, and to bring warm water to cleanse ourselves and the equipment with. Jeeves lovingly hung it up to dry with the same attention and care he pays the Wooster wardrobe, and then crawled into bed with me, wrapping lazily around me as I blew out the candles.

And that's how it was for the rest of our holiday. There was no odd thingness about Jeeves working for self, since the line was pretty sharply drawn. I didn't spend the whole time beating the poor chap or he would have been in a sorry state, but there are plenty of other games. Including 'tie Bertram to the headboard', which really seemed like fair turnabout for the thrashing. Apparently most chaps want it all one way or the other, but any control I had over Jeeves I happily ceded on a moment's notice, and he seemed to appreciate it as much as I appreciated his willingness to be beaten.

Leaving was a dreadful wrench, as you might well imagine. It was dreary to make the polite voyage back, but at least this time we knew it could work. I had no idea if Jeeves would be willing to continue this thing between us in the flat, and I could really only wait and see. So that was rather dreadful, but nothing on the voyage out. We arrived back late, and I was almost too tired to worry about it, stumbling in and telling Jeeves to leave the luggage where it was. He insisted on at least dragging it into my room, and then hung about. I couldn't for the life of me think why he was hovering that way when he must be as tired as I was, when the light of realization suddenly pierced the thick fog in my (Aunt Dahlia would say likewise thick) head, and I smiled.

"Come to bed, old thing, I know you're exhausted." 

I didn't expect him to catch me slightly off the ground and kiss me within an inch of my life, but I just enjoyed it and beamed at him when he was done. He insisted on getting our clothes neatly hung up and getting us both decently into pajamas (as if that would stop anyone if they saw me tangled up with my specific dream valet) before finally climbing in beside me and pulling me in against his chest, where I could use him for a pillow and listen to his heart. 

"Jeeves?" I mumbled.

"Sir?"

"We should make a habit of this, what?"

"Very good, sir." He kissed the top of my head, and we slept.


End file.
